Monsieur Vacheur's Lost Country

Our land is surrounded by cow pastures on all sides where a creole rancher from Carencro keeps his herd. He comes to take care of his cows every day and spends every Saturday there building a barn and tending his fence. He speaks Creole French to his cows and his buddy who comes to help him out.

Sound travels out here on the prairie, so if I am outside I can usually hear him yelling HEY!!! and it startles me, it sounds so close.  We watch out for their cows.  A few years ago, I pushed a newborn calf back through the fence after it had been born onto our side, somehow, and separated from its mother. Once we saw the Cowman's little daughter riding her four-wheeler. She told us that she calls the road and fields of Prairie des Femmes the "lost country".

Today, I could hear snippets of Monsieur Vacheur's conversation with his cows and his buddy. Their Creole is so fast that I can barely make out what the say, but today, conditions were just right:

Why ya don take ya ti-wagon?

là bas! là bas! là bas!l à bas!

hey! HEY!

Ah-right, woah!

Ah-right, das good, hol out en avant!

Put ma key on da cha!

Dat truck still en arièrre?

Hey! Ouvre la porte on va lui fait.

mooooooo! HO! *crash*

No no no! laisse par terre

Gain-mon-là!

Quelquechose...moi pas gaine...bon whisky....

T'es gone?

Té gain wagon?

Eh? mon gain pas mon jack...

Fait chaud...

Eh, moi et toi nèg, on est gone là bas...

Allons!